


Tint the Sky

by knifepyjamas



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Blush is a fucking mess sir you're 35 get your shit together, Canon Gay Character, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Ex-Legion Courier, Flirting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serious Injuries, Trans Male Characters, at least those are implied at the moment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifepyjamas/pseuds/knifepyjamas
Summary: A collection of fics about my Courier
Relationships: Male Courier/Arcade Gannon, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Tint the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is... self-indulgence babey!

The old Mormon fort. That’s where Rotface said he could find some doctors, right? The Chasers of the Apocalypse or something? The Followers, that’s it. The courier was in too much pain and far too high to have been paying full attention. God, maybe he should’ve healed himself before he got this bad. When one of the nightkin in the REPCONN basement nearly cracked his skull apart would’ve been a good time, or perhaps when a feral ghoul launched at him and snapped his arm, or maybe even when he stepped on a Powder Ganger’s mine and blew his legs. Instead his idiot ass decided to huff some jet, inject himself with too much Med-X, and limp his way all the way to Freeside. Which, to no surprise, only made his injuries worse. Hard to believe he was even a doctor himself at one point.

The fort was hard to miss, even with his blurry stoned-and-concussed vision. It was a large brown stone building in the centre of Freeside, a staunch difference from the modern, crumbling buildings around it. The people on the streets, likely locals, gave him looks as he stumbled his way towards the large oak doors of the fort. Some were judgmental, some concerned, some pitying. The courier despised all of them. No one enjoyed being looked down upon, and he specifically hated people feeling sorry for him. If only they knew, they wouldn’t fucking dare to sympathize with him.  
With his one good arm and a shit ton of effort, he pushed open one of the doors. Immediately, the two women sitting behind a barrier at the entrance of the fort- presumably guards- turned their heads towards him. The courier smiled at them with as much nonchalance and charisma as a man with a body about to disintegrate under him could muster. One of the women grimaced at the sight of him. Or, more likely, his mangled limbs. The other immediately stood up and ran off, saying something about getting someone.

“Do you need to sit down?” A voice to his left asked, causing him to flinch in surprise. Another guard.

“Nope. No sir. I’m good. You have some nice arms; did you know that? I bet… shit…” The courier was interrupted by a ringing in his ears and his vision turning to static. He swayed for a second, waiting for it to go away.

Next thing he knew, he was in a cot. He felt tired despite the innate knowledge that he had just woken up here, and numb. Not that sweet, relaxed numb either. The kind of throbbing numbness that almost made you wish you were just in pain instead. He had been stripped to just his underclothes, and bandages covered his body. It was almost funny, his resemblance to a beat-up villain in one of those old, pre-war comics. Dim light filtered in through tarp, telling him that he was in one of the many tents that he saw lined the fort. Thank God. If his injuries wouldn’t have killed him first, the heat would’ve. He, to his still aching head’s complaint, turned to investigate the other, brighter light source in the tent.

He was greeted by the sight of what had to be the most beautiful man in existence. He was a pale man, and tall- which was obvious despite him sitting, or perhaps made even more obvious by his cramped posture. He had blonde hair that was neatly combed, a rare sight to see in the wasteland. Cool blue eyes were framed by thick rectangular glasses. His nose was long and pointed, which just brought all his facial features together into what could only be described as _perfection_. The man’s mouth was curved in a bit of an unamused expression as he read a book he clearly wasn’t all too interested in.

“Hey there,” the courier grinned, his gaze flicking up from the man’s thin, _delicate_ hands to those eyes of his.

“Hey,” the man replied, his voice a sort of neutral tone, but certainly a lovely one, “If you need any more medical assistance, I’ll get one of the other doctors for you. I’m just a medical researcher and not a very good one at that.”

“What kind of research?” 

“Oh, you know. Finding alternative treatments for common illnesses and injuries. Stimpaks out of barrel cacti and other fantastic improbabilities. As far as fruitless wastes of time go, it’s quite noble in its aims.”

The courier frowned at his response. In his time as a doctor, he had done things far more improbable than that. 

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic about it,” he observed.

“I’m enthusiastic about helping people, but _nihil novi sub sole_.”

At _that_ response, the courier’s stomach dropped. It was good that the man seemed genuine about wanting to help, but he hadn’t heard _that_ language spoken in years, and never by someone who wasn’t one of _them_.

“Nothing new under the sun,” the courier translated, his throat suddenly dry, “Latin.”

The doctor, _well_ , the medical researcher, perked up at this, “You speak it too? I don’t think I’ve ever met another person who does. Not one that I’d like to meet, anyway.”

He paused for a moment, his expression switching from interest to suspicion.

“You’re not… Legion, are you?”

“Oh, no, fuck no,” the courier said, truthfully, before adding a lie on top, “I just… found some books. Wasn’t too interested at first but, hey, how rare is it to come across intact books in the wasteland, nevertheless the Mojave? So, I kept them, and I read them, and now I know another language. _Talis qualis_.”

“I learned in much the same way. Books. Sheet music. Gladiator movie holotapes. Bits and pieces here and there. The Followers have extensive libraries, but we all draw water from the same old well. Even Caesar.”

The courier sighed to himself, relieved that his lie worked and that this gorgeous, _gorgeous_ man seemed to not have- nor want- anything to do with Caesar’s legion. Now that that was clear, and now that they’ve been talking for a bit, he figured it was past due for an introduction.

“You know, you never told me your name.”

“Oh! Arcade. Arcade Gannon. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier. I never claimed I was great with people.”

Really? Although definitely not everyone’s type, the courier found Arcade very charming. A fantastic name, too.

“Nice to meet you, Arcade. I’m Blush. That’s it. No last name. Short, cute, and to the point. Like me,” Blush grinned at Arcade, who might have chuckled a little at his joke, though his movement was too small for him to be sure.

“So, Dr. Gannon, sorry, _Medical Researcher_ Gannon, why do you do medical research instead of providing medical assistance?”

Arcade sighed at this, finally closing the book he had open on his lab. A guide to plants in the Mojave, Blush judged from the title.

“Not all Followers are “”people persons.”” Besides, someone needs to do research. I have no problem with Julie sticking me back here. Out of sight, out of mind. There are worse things one can be, though I do admit, it is a bit boring.”

“Though it has a noble goal, I don’t think this research will yield much fruit. No pun intended. Like I said before, not all Followers are good with people. I’m fine doing research back here, even if it is a bit boring… and pointless… and a complete waste of time. Don’t mind me, I’m just voicing my thoughts so they don’t burrow out of my skull in a fit of abject despondency.”

If there was ever a time Blush found an opportunity, it was now. He sat up, ignoring the complaints from his body, and ran a hand through his curly hair, making sure to give Arcade his best smile.

“Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested, emphasizing his words with points.

Arcade’s response to this was a raise of an eyebrow and an expression that combined surprise, curiosity, and doubt.

“No offense intended, but why should I go anywhere with you?”

Considering Blush was very bandaged up and starting to feel some of the effects of jet and Med-X withdrawal, and that this conversation was happening after he walked into the fort, mutilated as hell, and passed out right at the door, he couldn’t take offence to that.

“I’m assuming you saw how injured I was when I came in,” Blush began, making sure to speak in that special voice he likes to speak to men in, “Goes to show that I need a good-looking doctor to help take care of me in the big, bad wasteland.”

He watched gleefully as Arcade’s face tinted pink, and he averted his eyes to the ground, before looking back up at him with a small smirk.

“Overt flirtation will get you everywhere, you know.”

“On a slightly more serious note, if you're interested in helping out with the troubles plaguing Freeside, I can come with you. Just don't do anything obnoxious, like trying to help Caesar's Legion, and we should be fine. Understood?”

“Understood, Doc,” Blush confirmed, throwing a wink Arcade’s way for good measure.

“One more thing, Blush, you’re not leaving before I’m absolutely sure you can function properly. I don’t need you passing out and leaving me to deal with the mess.”


End file.
